


Worth The Risk

by scarletladyy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-23
Updated: 2011-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-19 17:45:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletladyy/pseuds/scarletladyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is a dangerous place for Hermione and other Muggleborns, and when she meets the Death Eater's most infamous torturer in a dark alleyway, she thinks her life is over, until it turns out that this Death Eater may have a conscience after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth The Risk

The moon lit up Diagon Alley, showing the many boarded up shops with the posters of wanted Mudbloods. Most of them had run away from the camps or their new owner's homes, and Draco knew that the next time he saw their faces, they'd be on their knees in front of him, begging for their lives as he tortured them. He visibly shuddered at the thought, glad that no one was around to see his momentary lapse in composure, and soldiered on down the empty street.

With his hands in his pockets playing with a few coins, he was able to distract himself from the torture he'd just performed on a woman in her late forties. She was a Mudblood, but she'd managed to escape from one of the camps by getting hold of a Pure-blood's wand, casting spells here, there and everywhere. She didn't get very far, being stunned before she could leave the premises, but that still didn't lessen the punishment he'd had to give her.

Draco blocked her deafening screams out of his mind as he tried in vain, once again, to think of a way out. He didn't want to be the Dark Lord's most violent torturer, but that was the title he was given, and that was exactly what he had to do. He hated that people crossed the street to avoid him, averting their gaze away from his and not daring to glance in his direction.

When anyone but a fellow Death Eater was forced to interact with him, they were perfectly polite and respectful, but Draco could see the worry in their eyes. They panicked that they'd say something wrong and he'd haul them off to the Ministry, and the worst part was that Draco knew that was exactly what he would have to do. Regardless of the fact he didn't really want to harm anyone, he had to, otherwise he'd be in disgrace, and being in the Dark Lord's bad graces was not a place he wanted to be.

Not if he wanted to live in this world, anyway.

As he turned the corner into Knockturn Alley, having to pass through it to get to his flat in the old town, he heard a rustling near Borgin and Burkes. His curiosity peaking, and really looking for any distraction possible, he looked down the alleyway next to the shop and saw the figure of a girl. The figure of a girl that he recognised, scrounging for food like a common Muggle.

"Granger?"

*

Shivering in the winter cold, Hermione wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to keep warm. It was a horrible night, and would be one of many as it neared Christmas; something she wasn't looking forward to this year. It was only early morning, still dark, but it was the only time Hermione felt safe coming out.

The world was such a different place now. Ever since Voldemort had won the war, and Harry had died at his hideous hands, Muggleborns had been hunted like foxes. There was no safe place anywhere, and Hermione had been reduced to skulking around Knockturn Alley at ridiculous times, scrambling for food and anything else she could get her hands on.

It was too risky to even attempt visiting Diagon Alley, and it's not as if Hermione wanted to go there anyway. It didn't look anything like the happy place she'd known it to be, and the one time she had gone, a few months ago, was still etched in her memory. It dared to overshadow the laughs she'd shared, the books she'd bought, and the friends she'd known.

But Hermione wouldn't let it, not if she could help it. Her willpower, emotional strength, and memories were all she had left now, and she was hanging onto them dearly, for without them, she would merely exist. Something she was near to doing anyway.

As Hermione dared approach Knockturn Alley, she looked carefully around her; there were only other Muggleborns she knew in passing, going about their business the same as she was -- alone and in silence. It didn't do to make friends these days. You never really knew if you'd ever see them again, and people went missing all the time. It would just cause too much heartbreak, and everyone had already had enough of that as it was.

The side alley next to Borgin and Burkes was Hermione's current destination; sometimes Borgin threw out the food he didn't eat or didn't like. He was a fickle person, but this worked to Hermione's advantage and she was not about to complain. She bent down to pick up a bag and rummage through it, but she was interrupted by a voice that sent chills down her spine.

"Granger?"

Hermione shot up and turned into the steely grey eyes of Malfoy; a known Death Eater. She was so surprised she didn't know what to do or say, she'd been sure she was safe at this time. She searched his eyes, to see if he had the same gleeful glint in them that the others did when they'd caught a Muggleborn, but Malfoy just looked uncertain, almost as if he wished he hadn't seen her.

"What are you doing?" He stood tall, with the stance of an elegant, aristocratic man, which he was. His hands were in his pockets, and he had a troubled look upon his face. The war had certainly aged him, but the time had been kind, and he hadn't lost his handsome looks.

"I-I'm --" Hermione wasn't sure whether to tell him the truth, but he hadn't immobilised her yet, so she figured it was worth a shot. "I'm looking for food."

Malfoy looked around the alleyway and then frowned. "Here?"

Hermione shrugged. "There's nowhere else for us Muggleborns, you should know that."

"You know what I'm meant to do, don't you, Granger?" Malfoy said darkly, but his face told a different story.

Hermione nodded. "I know. You're supposed to take me to the camps."

"The Mudblood camps," corrected Malfoy. "Do you think I should, Granger? Take you to one?"

"Don't play games with me, Malfoy." Hermione sighed and folded her arms tightly across her chest. "If you're going to take me, just take me. If not, can you please bugger off?"

Malfoy raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That's no way to talk to someone who has the potential to either ruin you or save you."

"My life is already ruined." When she said this, Hermione could have sworn she saw a look of pity on his face, but if so, it was fleeting.

"Right." Malfoy walked towards her and grabbed her arm firmly. This was it; he was going to hand her over to the authorities. She could only hope for a quick death, but she knew they'd been looking for her for months now, and she doubted they'd be happy at just killing her. She braced herself for the Apparition; something she hadn't done in a long time, and felt a little nauseous as they landed.

When she opened her eyes, she expected to see rows upon rows of cages, as those were the rumours of the camps, but she found herself in an old oak kitchen. Frowning, Hermione asked, "What's going on? Where are we? I thought you were taking me to the camps."

"You thought wrong," said Malfoy simply, running his fingers through his hair. "Look, there's food in the cupboards, a warm bed upstairs and nobody will find you here."

Hermione was completely and utterly confused; was this a trick? Was he just playing with her? "I don't understand. Why have you brought me here? Is it a trap?"

"You don't need to understand, Granger," said Malfoy; he was clearly stressed. "I've somewhere to be, but I'll be back to check on you. Just... make yourself at home, yeah?" He didn't wait for a response, Disapparating on the spot and leaving Hermione staring at where he used to be.

Whatever he was playing at, Hermione didn't like it.

*

Apparating back to Knockturn Alley, Draco felt completely and utterly shit. If his situation weren't bad enough already, he'd just found a Mudblood, and not just any Mudblood, Granger, the one they were all looking for, and _saved_ her. There she was, sat in his summer house, and hating him all the more. Perhaps it wasn't worth it; maybe he should have just ignored her, or taken her to the camps as he was supposed to, but when he saw her dishevelled appearance and what she'd been reduced to... it made him sick.

This was Hermione Granger, once the brightest witch of her age, top of her class, and she was scrounging for food in the early hours of the morning. It wasn't right, and Draco couldn't shake that feeling off. He knew if he'd have just left her, it would have haunted him for years to come; that he hadn't saved the one woman who truly didn't deserve their nightmare of a world.

She wasn't grateful, not by a long shot; she thought he was playing a trick on her. How cruel did she think he was? Surely she should know exactly who he was; she'd grown up with him for seven years. But she'd changed in the last few months, and maybe she assumed he had, too.

But he hadn't. He was still the same 'coward' he always was, just barely stomaching the tasks he was forced to perform on people who hadn't really done anything wrong. The worst part was that if anyone ever found any of this information out, he'd be the one being tortured and killed mercilessly.

Shaking off the thought, he strolled casually through the streets. Taking a look at the large clock above Borgin and Burkes, he noticed it was coming up to five am. It was a good job he wouldn't be needed until tomorrow evening; otherwise, he'd just be knackered from staying up so late.

Walking swiftly onto his street, he climbed the steps to his flat and opened it, going immediately to the bedroom. Before he completely conked out, however, he swallowed a vial of Dreamless Sleep potion; he didn't want any of those horrors haunting his dreams as well as his days.

*

Hermione awoke the next afternoon, embarrassed that she'd managed to sleep so long, but logically knowing it was because she hadn't had a decent nights sleep in months. As she got out of bed, she had a proper look around the room; it was absolutely lovely. Last night she'd had a quick glance in every room of the house, just to check there was nobody hiding, but she'd been too exhausted to take it all in.

Now she had the whole day, or until Malfoy came back, whenever that was. The bedroom had a lovely soft cream coloured carpet, and the bed linen was cream to match. The wardrobe, dresser, and bedside tables were all pinewood, and she dared to open the wardrobe, hoping there would be clothes in there.

To her luck, there were, and oddly enough of several different shapes and sizes. She pulled one of the dresses out, but it wasn't the sort of thing she'd usually wear and she put it back straight away. Besides, for all she knew they could be cursed, and she chastised herself for being so curious. From then on she vowed to look at everything with a careful eye before touching it, and only then if she was sure it was safe.

There could be hidden dangers anywhere, and she wouldn't have put it past Malfoy to take her to a 'house of horrors'. He always had seemed like a sadistic bastard.

After exploring the bedroom to the best of her ability, she couldn't find anything wrong with it, and made her way downstairs for breakfast. She was absolutely starving, and she hoped the food in the cupboards was in date. Even if it wasn't, she was far too hungry to pass it up.

Half way through a bowl of porridge, Hermione heard a loud crack in the hallway, and looked up to see Malfoy enter the kitchen. This was it; he was coming to take her away, wasn't he? He was just fucking with her mind, making her think she was safe; and then ripping it out from under her. Glaring at him, she put her spoon down and leant back in the chair.

"That's not very nice, Granger," Malfoy said, taking the chair opposite her. "You should be thanking the man who saved your life, not glaring at him."

"This is a trick, isn't it?" She narrowed her eyes, but he just appeared bemused by her statement.

"You're a very sceptical woman, aren't you? Can't you accept that maybe I'm trying to do something nice for you?"

Hermione was so racked with confusion and anger that it took her a few moments before she could gather a clear head to respond to him. "Your lot haven't done anything nice for me in months, Malfoy. I've been homeless, jobless, scrounging for food around Knockturn Alley, and you expect me to be perfectly content in the hands of one of the most violent torturers?"

"I'm not like that, Granger," said Malfoy darkly, taking his turn to narrow his eyebrows.

"Oh, really?" replied Hermione sarcastically. "Because I always see reports in the papers people leave out and about that you have the most violent reputation."

Malfoy made no sound, but he didn't take his eyes off her.

"Speechless, I see," she murmured, regarding his features. He was perfectly kept, in complete contrast to her, as she hadn't had chance to have a bath yet. "Why didn't you take me to the camps?"

"So eager to get there, are you? Think you'll see your friends?"

Hermione grabbed her bowl of porridge and threw it at Malfoy's head, narrowly missing him. "Don't you _dare_ talk about my friends like that! You have no right! You don't deserve to even think about them."

In matching anger, Malfoy stood and kicked his chair away, stalking towards her. His face grew colder the nearer he got to her, and she started to feel her courage dwindle; if what the papers said was true, many had suffered at his hands. Was it really a good idea to taunt him so? "Losing your bravado?"

"No," Hermione spat, standing to look him straight in the eyes. "You don't scare me, Malfoy."

"I should."

Hermione shrugged. "Just tell me what your game is, will you?"

"There is no game," Malfoy said quietly. "Can't a bloke do something nice without the Spanish Inquisition?"

"An ordinary bloke can, yes, Malfoy, but as we both know, you are no ordinary bloke." Standing only inches apart from each other, Hermione hated that she had to look up to Malfoy, even if it was only by a little bit. Showing she wasn't backing down, she folded her arms tightly across her chest.

Malfoy just smirked at her. "No, Granger, I'm an _extra_ ordinary bloke. Thanks for pointing that out."

"Ugh!" Hermione stomped her foot in frustration, her hands flying out at the same time, but her right one was caught quickly by Malfoy before it hit him, accidentally, in the face. "Let go of me!"

"Stop questioning me, and I'll let you go." Malfoy kept a vice-like grip on her arm, but it wasn't firm enough to cause a bruise, just enough to stop her going anywhere. When she tried to yank it out of his grasp, she failed embarrassingly, and nearly tripped herself up.

"You're not helping your case of being a nice guy like this," Hermione said, not taking her eyes off his.

As though her arm had just burnt him, Malfoy dropped it swiftly, his eyes narrowed in what looked like disgust. Not saying another word, he turned on his heel and left the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. As she bit her lip in confusion, Hermione noted that she hadn't heard the crack of Apparition; he hadn't left the house.

*

Draco stormed into the living room and kicked the end table, sending everything on it cascading to the floor. Despite the fact that he knew he deserved his reputation, that he knew he deserved exactly how Granger felt about him, he couldn't stand it, and he just wanted to shake her into sense. This, of course, would prove her right... as he just had.

He sat down on the sofa to take a moment to collect himself. He wouldn't be needed for a couple of hours yet, but he certainly couldn't show up shaking in anger and unable to complete his tasks. Everyday there seemed to be someone new to torture, and Draco half thought the Dark Lord was making him do it as a torture to himself.

"Malfoy?"

Draco snapped his head around so fast it hurt his neck, and glared as he saw Granger timidly entering the room. She looked almost apologetic, but as though she really didn't want to be. "Leave me alone," he said, turning away from her.

"Why did you leave? It just... doesn't seem like you."

Draco snorted and shook his head, moving to the edge of the sofa as she sat down next to him. "You'd better not be getting emotional on me now, Granger."

"I'm not," she said defensively, edging to the other side of the sofa. The gap in between them was ridiculous, but Draco didn't even know why she was sat down in the first place.

"Then what are you doing in here?"

"I asked you a question first," Granger retorted, and Draco sighed loudly.

"What you said about me... I didn't want to hear it, all right?"

Granger shifted in her seat and said, "Perhaps you shouldn't behave the way you do, then."

"I don't have a fucking choice!" Draco yelled loudly. "It's torture or be tortured! You might give your life for someone else's, but I'm not going to risk everything I have on some pathetic Mudblood!"

"Right." There was an awkward silence now, and Draco felt slightly guilty. "So why bring me here then, if I'm just 'some pathetic Mudblood'?"

"Because you're a pathetic Mudblood that I know, and the fact of the matter is that you shouldn't be pathetic. You're Hermione fucking Granger for God's sake."

Draco looked at her properly for the first time since he'd come across her yesterday. Her hair was all over the place, it looked to be in several different knots; she was a lot thinner than he'd known her to be, and there were large bags under her eyes. She didn't look at all healthy, but underneath it all, there was still a natural... pleasantness about her looks, as much as he hated to admit it. She wasn't bad to look at, even like this.

"Here." Draco took out his wand and moved towards her on the sofa; she narrowed her eyes at him uncertainly. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just thought you could do with a spell to get the knots out of your hair. By all means, feel free to undertake the task of doing it by hand."

Granger glared at him, but turned so the majority of her hair was facing him. It only took a swift flick of his wand for her hair to be back to the way he remembered it - bushy and frizzy, but certainly not knotted. "Thanks," she muttered after it was done, shifting to face him again.

Draco held out his arms comically and said, "See? I'm not all bad." A little laugh escaped her, but she seemed to contain it almost as soon as it had left. She appeared annoyed at herself for it, though why on earth, Draco didn't know. He didn't think she'd have had many laughs over the past few months. He was quickly dragged out of his psychoanalysis of Granger by the grandfather clock in the hallway striking six pm, and stood up to leave.

"Are you off?"

Draco smoothed his robes down. "If I'm not mistaken, Granger, that sounds like disappointment in your voice."

"Ha!" she scoffed, turning a little pink. "As if."

With a smirk, Draco nodded at her and Apparated to his office in the Ministry; he was the only one who was allowed this privilege, and he was grateful for it. He didn't want to come across someone screaming like a banshee that he'd tortured their wife to insanity, and he suspected there would be a couple of idiots stupid enough to do just that.

Draco opened his office door, where Blaise was stood right outside it, on time as he always was, ready to deliver the person Draco was to torture. "Eighteen year old half-blood today, Malfoy."

"Name?" he asked, though it wasn't as if it mattered. The fact that they were a half-blood did though, and it meant they had acted against the regime.

"Hannah Abbott."

Draco started at that name; he recognised it. He racked his brain for a few seconds until he remembered who it was "She was a Hufflepuff in our year. Don't you remember?"

Blaise shook his head. "No. Should I?" Draco supposed he didn't really see any reason why Blaise should remember her. "Anyway, she was caught hiding a Mudblood, who managed to get away."

"Right." Draco nodded and walked over to his desk, opening the top drawer and taking out a small bottle of Firewhiskey; he always had a glass before he was to perform his duties. He did it to 'calm his nerves', or so he told himself. "Dungeons?"

"As usual." Blaise turned to leave, but spoke at the last minute. "Don't go easy on her, Draco. Just because you knew her doesn't make her crime any better."

Draco placed a smirk on his face. "As if I would. I'm going to enjoy this."

Blaise returned his smirk as he left, and Draco began to feel nauseated, wanting nothing more than to Disapparate back to the summer house and ask Granger the million and one questions that had been mulling around in his head. But, life was full of nasty surprises, and torturing Hannah Abbott was certainly going to be one of them.

*

A loud bang awoke Hermione from her sleep, and a quick look at the clock on the bedside table told her it was nearing four am. She began to panic, worrying that Malfoy had brought the Death Eaters to take her away. When she didn't hear another noise, or anyone calling her name, she got out of bed and grabbed the object that would do the most damage to someone if she hit them over the head with it: a glass vase.

Without her wand, resorting to Muggle techniques was the only option, and she wasn't prepared to stay in bed and wait for whoever it was to come to her. She crept down the stairs, towards where she believed she first heard the noise, and began to scout out the whole of the floor. She went into each and every room, and it was only in the dining room that she heard something out of the ordinary.

It sounded as though someone was sat behind the dining table, crying,. She tiptoed closer, the vase held tightly in her hands, and gasped as she realised what, or rather _who_ , it was.

"Malfoy?" she said quietly, setting the vase on the table. He was sat with his knees up to his chest, his face buried in them. When he heard her voice, he looked up and glared at her; his face was completely tear stained.

"Get out!" Malfoy shouted, jumping up from his position. "Get the fuck out!"

"What --?" Hermione started, but Malfoy advanced on her and backed her against the wall.

He sneered at her as he grabbed her arms and pressed them against the wall, effectively stopping her from going anywhere. With one swift movement, he had his lips on hers, kissing her. She tried to protest, confused and not sure that she wanted it, but she didn't protest enough to make him stop. Had she really wanted to, she could have brought her knee up and kicked him in the balls, but the kiss was... unexpected, unwanted, and yet... _nice_.

Seconds later Malfoy pulled away and let go of her arms, pushing her in the direction of the door. "Leave me alone," he said darkly, in a tone that told Hermione not to argue with him. Still struck dumb by the kiss, she left the room, but didn't take her eyes off him until he slammed the door in her face.

She climbed the stairs, her brain a mixture of confusion and frustration, angry with Malfoy for having the audacity to do that, and yet welcoming the first bit of affection that she'd had in months. She didn't understand why he'd done that, but if he was doing it to mess with her head, it had certainly worked.

As she jumped into bed and pulled the duvet over her, she realised it would take her quite awhile to get to sleep. What Malfoy had done would distract her for a long time to come.

*

The sun shining in through the large dining room windows awoke Draco early the next morning, giving him only a few hours sleep. He rubbed his eyes, and stood up, stretching. The events of last night played through his mind, from the begging Hannah Abbott to the kiss with Granger. What he had been thinking on the latter he wasn't sure, and he put it down to complete emotional turmoil; the torture of Hannah had not been easy.

The girl had cried, wept, grabbed at his robes as she knelt at his feet, and begged him not to curse her anymore. But he hadn't listened, sneering at her and insulting her, calling her pathetic. He'd kicked her away time and time again, not wanting her bloody hands on his robes, and feeling more and more nauseated by the blood that emanated from her.

After several hours, she was finally knocked unconscious, and Draco gave her back to Blaise. She was his responsibility now; whether or not she was healed and sent back into society was completely up to him. Draco had done his part, found out how long she'd hidden the Mudblood for, why she was resisting the regime, and exactly where the escapee had gone.

It wasn't that Hannah wasn't willing to give any answers, she was, it was just she didn't have much information. But that, Draco knew, was no excuse, and she was to suffer greatly for her actions. As much as Draco hated to do so, he'd made sure she had. She'd known the rules and the risks that disobedience carried, so she only had herself to blame.

The whole event had Draco struggling to cope, and he'd Apparated to the only place he knew he was safe from visitors: the summer house. He honestly hadn't thought Granger would wake up and find him, and when she had, he wanted nothing more than to strangle her for seeing him so vulnerable. But when he pushed her against the wall, ready to punish her for embarrassing him, he'd kissed her instead. He couldn't help himself, and he didn't know why he'd done it.

She hadn't tasted bad, though. In fact, the whole experience was quite pleasant amongst all of the shit he'd been dealing with lately, but Draco knew it just wasn't acceptable. Kissing a _Mudblood_? He knew his father would be ashamed of him.

He put the whole thing down to extreme stress; that was the only thing it could be. It wasn't as if he'd actually wanted to kiss her, his mind had just suffered from temporary insanity. That sort of thing wasn't rare when you were dealing with so much, Draco just hadn't expected it to come out like _that_.

Yes, temporary insanity. That _had_ to be it.

*

There were many questions Hermione wanted to ask Malfoy the next day; but he was already gone by the time she made it downstairs. She'd obviously caught him when he was most vulnerable, and he hadn't liked that. She couldn't blame him, he was probably embarrassed at showing what he would believe was weakness.

It wasn't, Hermione knew that. As much as she hated to admit it, what he did couldn't exactly come easy, even to someone like Malfoy. He'd had trouble killing Dumbledore, so she wasn't quite sure how he managed to do what he did. Still, at the end of the day, even if there was a reason for it, he still did it, and Hermione detested him for it. She'd noticed the blood stains on the end of his robes last night, and she didn't want to know who they were from. She figured that must have been why Malfoy had been crying; perhaps this was affecting him a lot more than he cared to show.

Hermione shook herself mentally; she shouldn't be trying to rationalise the actions of one of the most evil men in Britain, and yet, she found herself wondering if he really was evil. Was he just performing evil? Following the orders of evil? Whichever way it was, Hermione wanted to find out, and try and get out of him why on earth he had sent her here. She wasn't complaining; it was nicer than living on the streets, and safer -- as long as he didn't tell anyone about her.

But... it was odd. He wasn't supposed to 'save her', as he had put it. He was supposed to turn her in for torture and probably murder. Although, what was it he had said? She 'shouldn't be pathetic'. Why had he come out with that? Was that really what he thought, that she was meant to be more than that? Of course, _she_ knew she was destined to be more than that; circumstances beyond her control had just prevented it, but did Malfoy think that? Because if he did, there was a lot more to his actions than she'd previously thought.

All this thinking and trying to analyse Malfoy was making her head hurt, and she decided today that she was going to make the place a little nicer. Do something normal, simple, for once. It could only be good for her after everything she'd suffered. She'd noticed there was even a lovely garden out the back, but it was cold, and Hermione had spent too much time outside in the last few weeks. She vowed to go out there in spring, though, if she was still there then.

Before her brain could start on its path of where she would be in the future, she searched the kitchen cupboards for any sign of cleaning equipment. She finally found a cloth and some soap in the back corner of one, which she assumed the house elves that used to live there must have used once. Someone certainly had, anyway, and a fleeting thought crossed her mind that maybe she wasn't the only Muggleborn Malfoy had 'saved'.

Hermione threw that thought out of her mind rather quickly as she dampened the cloth, because by Malfoy's behaviour, 'saving' people was something new to him. It was dangerous, that was for sure, and she couldn't see him doing it without a good reason, which was why she was so puzzled.

Realising she'd let her mind wander again, she got down to the task of ridding the place of the dust that had mounted up over the months. The house mustn't have been used in a while, but by the picture frames on the shelves, the clothes in the wardrobe and the food in the cupboards, it had certainly been inhabited once.

When she'd managed to dust both the kitchen and the living room, she sighed loudly and rested in a large armchair. As much as she wanted simple, she knew this would be a lot simpler with magic, and she really wished she had her wand. Alas, it had been taken from her and snapped when the regime had been put into place, and she'd narrowly avoided being caught then. It would be too risky to try and get a new one, because the only way would be to steal one, and that was not a good idea.

Besides, there was probably a trace on magic these days, to make sure nothing untoward like that occurred. Either way, safety in this world was key, if she wanted to survive, and Hermione knew she did. The situation might be dire, and look as though there was no ending in sight, but Hermione knew she couldn't lose hope, and she was determined not to.

Right after her wand had been snapped, it'd taken a good talking to from one of the Muggleborn girls she'd met to convince her of that. Without magic, Hermione had initially thought there was nothing more she could do, and life wasn't worth living. It didn't help she was grieving for Harry, and that she may as well have been for Ron. She still didn't know where Ron was now; she could only hope he'd managed to evade capture, as she had. She wasn't sure she could cope if she knew he'd been killed, too.

As Hermione glanced around the room, she noticed lots of little details that didn't look as if Malfoy had placed them there. They were girly things, like doilies, photographs of unicorns and dried flowers. Perhaps they'd once belonged to Narcissa Malfoy, but Hermione didn't think she seemed the type to like those sorts of decorations. With her mind on Malfoy, she realised she hadn't seen him all day, and she was already starting to feel a little lonely, but as soon as that thought popped into her head, she chastised herself. There wasn't any way she was going to allow herself to yearn for the company of _Malfoy_.

With a sigh, she stood and entered the dining room, continuing her spring cleaning of Malfoy's house. If she had to live there, it was going to be habitable.

*

Draco hadn't been back to the summer house in over a week; he just couldn't face Granger after she'd seen him at his most vulnerable, and after what had happened between them. He couldn't even bear to say what it was, too mortified at the thought, and hoping if he didn't think about it then it never would have happened. Not thinking about it, however, was proving to be a more difficult task that he'd originally believed.

The fact that it was starting to affect his work was even worse. Several times he'd gone for a lesser curse than he normally would have, letting them off easier than he was known for. He avoided the looks of confusion from his victims as they scrambled out of the room in relief, not wanting any more confirmation that he was letting Granger take up far too much of his thinking time.

Seeing her again seemed to have brought back the older him, the boy who was too frightened to kill Dumbledore, rather than the man who had no problems with torturing innocent people. She reminded him of the days that he wasn't such a terrible person, and it had brought about an inner battle within him. He was conflicted between the man he was and the boy he used to be, particularly since he'd rather be that boy with a clean conscience. That boy could sleep at night, without the horrors of his actions coming back to haunt him.

Draco longed for the day he could sleep properly again, but he dared not give up his potion for fear of the nightmares starting up again. They'd nearly driven himself insane the first time around, and he wasn't about to fall apart now, not after how hard he'd worked to keep the little bit of sanity he had left.

His life may not be what he'd expected, but he knew he was lucky to be alive and so trusted within the Dark Lord's ranks, even if he didn't want it. He'd never be completely safe, but the likelihood of Legilimency being used against him was, thankfully, slim. It had taken him awhile to earn such trust, after his failure with Dumbledore, but he'd been prepared to do anything and everything to be back in favour, so he'd risen in the ranks quickly.

Anything and everything really had meant exactly what it sounded like, and there had been many things Draco had to do that he'd wiped out of his memory, unable to live with the guilt. He had several vials of horrific incidents stacked up in a cupboard in his summer --

"Shit!" Draco said loudly; he'd completely forgotten that he'd stored his memories there. It was the safest place he knew, because nobody else was aware of it, which is why he'd hidden Granger there. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_!"

Without even thinking about it, Draco Apparated straight to the house and landed with a loud crack in the middle of the living room. It was eerily quiet, and the only sign of life was that Granger had been cleaning in here earlier. Concerned for the privacy of his memories, he raced upstairs to the second bedroom, to find Granger looking curiously at the vials. To his great relief, it didn't look as though she'd seen them yet.

*

"Malfoy?" Hermione said as she turned around upon his entrance, surprised by his appearance. His face was pink from running up the stairs, and he was staring from her to the vials she had in her hand and back again. She'd managed to reach upstairs with her cleaning, as the downstairs was completely spotless, and had just come across these vials only moments earlier. She didn't have a clue what they were, though she guessed they could be memories by their appearance, rather than potions, but from the looks of things, they were valuable to Malfoy. "What's going on?"

"Er, nothing," he said, attempting to be casual. He placed his hands in his pockets and leant against the door frame. "Just came to see how you are."

"I'm fine." Hermione frowned in confusion, holding onto the vials tightly. "But that's not why you're really here."

Malfoy sighed. "Oh, you know me so well. Those vials, put them down."

Hermione looked downwards at them again before locking eyes with Malfoy. "What are they?"

"They're an extremely dangerous series of potions I had to concoct for the Dark Lord. I was keeping them here out of reach of prying hands." Hermione studied him carefully; his manner of speaking was very confident, but his body language was completely different. She was getting mixed messages about whether or not he was telling the truth. "Seriously," he continued, "you don't want to touch the liquid inside."

"You're lying," Hermione said simply, and Malfoy's jaw twitched in response. "These are memories, you can tell by the silvery substance."

"Suppose I shouldn't have bothered lying to you," Malfoy muttered. "You've always been far too clever for your own good."

Hermione nearly smiled, but kept it back at the last moment. "All that remains is to find out exactly what these memories are of that you really don't want me to see."

"What makes you think I don't want you to see them?" Malfoy ran a hand through his hair, presumably to try and remain an air of being casual, but it wasn't working.

"You come bursting in here, stare at the vials anxiously and then lie to me about what they are. If you'd just said they were old family memories, I probably would have believed you. It's what I assumed they were, since they were in the second bedroom."

"Damn." Malfoy looked annoyed that he'd missed a trick there. "They're just... you don't want to see them, trust me."

Hermione snorted. "And why should I trust anything _you_ say? You just lied to me not moments ago."

"Perhaps." Malfoy bit his lip awkwardly. "But I wouldn't joke about those memories. I hid them away for a reason, so nobody would ever see the true horror of what they contain, and that includes you. Surely you've seen enough terror to last a lifetime?"

Hermione had to admit that she had, but her curiosity was overwhelming, and she really wanted to know what was in the memories. She assumed they were Malfoy's own memories, perhaps of his darker times during the regime, but she wasn't sure how much darker than being a vicious torturer you could get. The question was, did she want to find out? "Fine," she conceded, placing the memories back into the cupboard and closing the door firmly. "Keep your little secrets."

"Thank you, Granger," Malfoy said as she swept past him, her arm being gently grabbed as she aimed to leave. Startled, she quickly yanked it out of his grasp and glared at him. "My intention wasn't to harm you."

"Just everyone else like me, apparently." With her eyes fixated on Malfoy's like a hawk, she noticed a flutter of both annoyance and sadness, albeit they were only fleeting. Suddenly, she changed the subject completely, asking him something she'd been pondering on for a while now. "Why are the clothes in the wardrobes all different sizes?"

Malfoy looked completely taken aback by her question. "What?"

"The clothes in the wardrobe, in the master bedroom. They're all different sizes. Surely they'd all be the same size, of the woman who used to live here, no?"

Smiling slightly, Malfoy said, "I used to bring a lot of women here, Granger. They weren't all the same height and weight."

"Then why are there picture frames all around the house containing photos of you and one particular woman, who I can just make out as Pansy Parkinson?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed as he coldly said, "Shut it, Granger. Don't you dare mention her name again."

"But --" Hermione started, but as Malfoy advanced towards her menacingly, she decided she'd have to let the issue drop. Whatever was going on regarding Pansy, it certainly wasn't pleasant. "Sorry," she mumbled seconds later, slightly affronted at having to apologise, but feeling a little guilty at hitting on a raw nerve. She knew if Malfoy had mentioned Ron, she'd probably be reacting the same way, since she vaguely remembered something about Parkinson going missing. At least she thought she did, her memories of the last several months were very hazy now.

With a fierce warning glance, Malfoy pushed past her and down the stairs, the loud crack of Disapparation hitting Hermione's ears moments later.

*

Draco paced backwards and forwards in his office at the Ministry, his arms clasped tightly behind his back and a frown upon his face. Granger's words were playing on his mind, and he felt nothing but hatred towards her for bringing up Pansy, who'd been missing for four months now. Nobody knew where Pansy was or how she'd vanished, and despite Draco's protests, nobody appeared to want to help, leaving him to look for her alone.

Ironically, the Dark Lord was always asking for Draco's help with something or other, and yet when Draco had needed him most, to save his best friend, he'd been let down. Ever since then, Draco had seen the cracks in the new regime, and wasn't so sure they were doing the right thing anymore. Before, he was able to gloss over the unpleasantness of his tasks, but that was getting harder and harder, particularly without any support. Pansy had been his one true friend. The rest wouldn't hesitate to drop him if things took a turn for the worst.

He kicked the bin next to his leg, sending it flying across the room and causing Blaise to come and investigate. Draco narrowed his eyes at his oldest friend, daring him to challenge him.

Blaise didn't. "We've just got in a rogue Mudblood."

"Right. I'll be down in a minute."

"No need," said Blaise, grabbing someone who was presumably on the other side of the door and flinging them into the room. It was a young woman, and she looked absolutely petrified. "I don't think we'll need to be seeing this one again, mate."

Draco gulped as Blaise slammed the door behind him, leaving the woman standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. He knew what Blaise had meant; murder. Whatever this woman had done -- and Draco intended to find out -- she was to be killed for it. As he walked past her to cast a few spells on the door, she jumped out of the way, as though afraid he would hit her or something. "What did you do?" Draco asked with his back to her as he finished the wards on his office.

"I-I-I killed my owner."

Draco turned around, stunned. This woman didn't look as though she had it in her to kill anyone; she was small and mousey, looking as though butter wouldn't melt. It sounded like something Granger would do, and he chastised himself for thinking of her during his work. "How?"

"I stole his wand," she said, moving a few steps backwards to stand against the wall and avoiding his gaze. "I didn't mean to kill him, but... he tried to..."

"What?" Draco prompted, even though he'd already gathered what she was going to say.

"He tried to rape me," she said quietly, blushing profusely.

Draco nodded knowingly; this wasn't uncommon. "Why were you sent to me? What did they say? I'm not usually in charge of carrying out death warrants."

"They said you were the best."

"At?"

The woman shrugged. "They said you'd make me suffer."

Walking towards her, Draco said, "You seem very resigned to your fate."

"Better off dead than living this life," she muttered. "Can't deny I'm scared, though."

"No, you can't." Draco lifted her chin up so she was looking directly into his eyes. "I don't see any point in torturing you before your death. It would be tedious for the both of us, and I have somewhere I need to be." He didn't, but he wanted to make this as easy as possible on them both. He realised it had been a mistake to come to the Ministry; he'd have been better off being pissed off in one of the rooms of his summer house.

"But --" The woman started, then realised she'd be better off shutting up.

Stepping backwards and sighing, Draco pointed his wand towards the woman's heart and said loudly "Avada Kedavra!" He watched her fall to the ground at his feet, and knew he'd have to make it look as though she'd been tortured extensively before her death. That wouldn't be hard, just a few spells here and there; he'd just say there was a silencing charm on the room.

It was better than the alternative of actually doing it; that was one more horror he could do without.

*

For the last several hours, Hermione had been feeling a lot guiltier than she should have been about her comment to Malfoy. It had been a little careless, even if it was Malfoy; he had saved her after all, or so it appeared. She'd been here awhile now and nobody seemed to be coming after her. She was grateful, and it probably wasn't the greatest idea in the world to piss him off.

So, when she heard him arrive in the living room again, she was relieved, and made her way towards it.

"Not now, Granger," said Malfoy firmly as he took off his coat and sat on the sofa. "I'm not in the mood."

"I just wanted to say --"

"I know what you want to say, and I don't want to hear it. What's done is done, let's just forget it." He began fiddling with the loose fabric on his robes, and Hermione took the chance to sit down next to him.

"Okay." They sat in silence for several moments, Hermione growing more uncomfortable by the moment. "Where did you go?"

"The Ministry," Malfoy said curtly. "I had work."

Hermione nodded. "Are you all right?"

"Fine." Malfoy turned and looked her directly in the eyes. "What do you want, Granger?"

Shrugging, Hermione said, "I'm not sure. Just company, I guess, even if it is you."

"Thanks for that." She was about to apologise when she saw a small smile cross his lips. "You're changing me, Granger. Or maybe you're just making me see the light."

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Let's just say my work is suffering because of you. You're giving me a conscience." Hermione laughed. "It's not funny! Every time I'm about to perform a horrific act I see your face. Maybe I should have just handed you over."

"No," said Hermione sharply. "You did a good thing there. Even if everything else you do is bad, you did one good thing."

Malfoy nodded. "I suppose I did."

"Why me? Out of all the Mudbloods you see, why me?"

Malfoy sighed loudly. "You represent my childhood, Granger. Years were spent arguing with you, trying to beat your marks in every lesson, and planning schemes against you and Potter. Things back then were simple and fun, and now they're complicated. The moment I saved you was a turning point for me, and honestly, I could have easily made a different decision and sent you to the camps."

"But you didn't." Hermione had to admit she felt a little sorry for him. Everyone might see him as this cruel torturer, but it was becoming more and more obvious to her that he was just doing it to survive, and not because he was evil. She shuffled towards him on the sofa and awkwardly placed a hand on his thigh, attempting to be comforting. "And I'll always remember that."

Malfoy looked down towards her hand, so she pulled it away, feeling that it was a little too much, but then he looked into her eyes, and she saw something there that she hadn't seen in them for years: innocence. When he leant forwards and their faces were only inches apart, Hermione felt as though she should be moving away, but she didn't. When he kissed her again, she kissed him back. As wrong as it was in this world, she wanted it, and clearly, he did too.

"Malfoy, I --" she started when he pulled away to take off his robes, but he placed a finger over her mouth and shushed her. All she was going to say was that she thought they should take it to the bedroom, but she had to admit that would have ruined the growing passion. As Malfoy cast his robes aside, Hermione couldn't help but stare at the nude form in front of her, if only for the few seconds she was able.

He reached for her robes and took them off her, and she aided him as he pulled it over her head, attempting to quicken things up. She brought her legs up onto the sofa and he pushed her back, crawling up her body and laying kisses down her neck. "You're beautiful," he whispered.

As he spread her legs apart, Hermione blurted out, "I'm a virgin." He stopped in his tracks and stared at her, then stroked her cheek.

"I'll have to be gentle then, won't I?"

Hermione blushed as Malfoy hooked a finger into each side of her knickers and pulled them down, exposing her private parts for the first time. He traced an index finger along her cunt lips and touched her entrance for a fleeting moment, before bringing his hand to his nose and smelling her.

"My, my, Granger. For a virgin, you're extremely wet." Malfoy grabbed his wand from the side of the sofa and muttered a spell, bringing a small bottle of something into the palm of his hand. "I won't skimp out on the lube, though. I'm far too big for you to go without that."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and for the first time in a long while, she was truly reminded of the Malfoy she'd known back in school. She'd seen fleeting glances of him ever since he'd saved her, but now, it was as though there were only the two of them, and nobody else mattered. She braced herself as he moved in between her legs, able to feel his cock at her entrance.

"Say you want it, Granger. You know you want to."

That familiar smirk was back, and Hermione found herself blushing profusely. She didn't dare say the words out loud, but she did move her cunt forwards, so his cock was pressing harder against her.

"That'll do," said Malfoy, slowly pushing inside. The pain wasn't as bad as Hermione had worried it would be, and Malfoy had kept to his word; he was gentle. He broke through her hymen and went all the way inside, bringing his head down towards her neck and kissing it softly. "You like that?"

Hermione nodded slightly; being filled felt nice, and she felt a tingling sensation between her legs as Malfoy slowly fucked her. She dared to look into his eyes for a moment, but he wasn't looking at her face, he was staring at her breasts with an extremely hungry look, so she wasn't surprised, when, moments later, he bent down and began sucking on her nipples.

"You have bloody gorgeous breasts," panted Malfoy, starting to increase his pace. He looked into her eyes, as though searching for confirmation that his growing speed was okay, and she tipped her head to let him know that it was. Smiling, he brought a finger down to her clit and began to rub it, and Hermione found herself eliciting a loud moan. She was embarrassed, but it felt too good to really care, and she figured Malfoy would probably love her noises anyway.

"Faster," she moaned, and Malfoy quickened his pace in fucking her and rubbing her clit, one of his hands on the sofa to steady him. She was so wet now that his finger began to slip slightly, which only made him press harder and give her even more stimulation. She could feel herself near climax as the pleasure intensified, and Malfoy had his eyes closed as he shagged her, his breathing extremely ragged.

Malfoy pinched her clit and sent her over the edge, pleasure engulfing her body as she wriggled about beneath him. "Oh, yes, Granger," said Malfoy breathlessly, reaching his own climax as he pushed into her one final time, his eyes fixated on hers.

They kept their eyes locked on each other as they rode their climaxes and came down from them, only looking away when Malfoy began to pull out of her and collapse on the sofa in exhaustion. She was breathless, also, and lay there beside him, trying to get her breath back.

The reality of the situation appeared to dawn on them both at the same time, because when Malfoy stood up to get dressed and Hermione said, "What are we going to do now?"

His reply was, "I don't know."

Hermione felt so confused; she knew she'd enjoyed her encounter with Malfoy, and wanted more, but at the same time, what they were doing in this new world was against the law. He was the man who was supposed to torture her for such things. She looked up at his face, which was now showing a grim expression, and they seemed to come to some sort of mutual understanding.

The fact of the matter was that they were living in a world that was destroying them both, and if being with each other could provide some sort of relief from that, however briefly, it was a risk worth taking. The price was high, but neither of them wanted to carry on being miserable, and as much as Malfoy probably hated to admit it, she had brought out the best in him.

Perhaps there was even a chance they could find the resistance groups; there must be some out there somewhere, join them, and Malfoy could help from the inside... but Hermione knew she was getting way ahead of herself. Even if that was something Malfoy wanted to do, and she doubted that, in spite of her ability to give him a conscience, it was extremely dangerous, and she didn't think she could ask him to do that. It would have to be something he thought of on his own.

Either way, Hermione knew that for as long as she now lived, she would be happy, and she'd rather than that the life she had before, living on the streets and miserable. This, she knew, was more than worth the risk.


End file.
